


The Eighth Man

by celli



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chromatic Character, M/M, NASCAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2010-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they're all NASCAR crew members, and Celli takes immense amounts of dramatic license.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eighth Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aerye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/gifts).



> Thanks to Shell and Caro for audiencing, and [](http://shetiger.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shetiger**](http://shetiger.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta. The title is a NASCAR term for the pit crew "utility" member.

Kris made his way into the shop, still a little startled when security nodded at his badge and waved him by. It was barely a week since he'd been hired, and he'd spent most of that time filling out forms and watching endless safety videos. He'd stopped counting horrible things that could happen to a Sprint Cup pit crew member after the first couple dozen.

Most people were busy working on the cars and didn't notice him, but he finally spotted a familiar face across the room. Matt Giraud waved at him and came to meet him, wiping engine grease on a dingy towel.

"Hey, Kris," Matt said. He held out his hand. "Welcome to the madhouse."

"Where can I start?" Kris asked. Matt laughed, but Kris was mostly serious. He needed to hide under a car for a while until he got some perspective back and remembered he was actually good at this. He'd been a gearhead and a crew member for years on the smaller circuits, but this was the big leagues. Forget the big leagues—this was the Olympics, every day.

Matt could probably see the panic on his face; he clapped Kris on the shoulder a couple of times and pushed him in the direction of the car he'd been working on. "Let me introduce you to my baby."

"They're all your babies, Rowdy," someone called from across the garage, and Matt flipped a friendly bird to a girl with tied-back dreadlocks and grease on her face.

"It's true, actually," he told Kris as they reached the car. "I love them all, and they all love me best."

"The cars...love you best."

"You got a problem with that?" Matt asked.

"Yeah," Kris said. He stroked a hand across the shining finish of the stock car. "They're all gonna love me best pretty soon. Rowdy."

Matt grabbed Kris and pulled him into a headlock; half the garage cheered, and the other half booed.

***

"Twenty-five more!"

"What?" Archie gasped.

"He's messing with you, Arch." Cook looked over from where he was doing leg presses across the room. He eyed Adam, who was looking down at Archie with evil glee. "I'm…pretty sure."

Adam spared a glance for Cook that promised more cardio in his future. "Don't give away my trade secrets. Archie, five more, but only if you give me 100%."

"I'll give you a million percent if you leave me alone," Archie said through gasps as he lowered the barbells and brought them up again. "Oof!"

"Oh, come on, make it sound like it hurts." Adam slanted a look over at Cook again. "It's okay to make noise, didn't anyone tell you?"

Archie glared at him and was deadly silent for the next four reps. He collapsed finally, his face edging from red to purple.

"Not bad," Adam said. He leaned down and dropped a smacking kiss on the top of Archie's head. "Pretty soon, we'll have you doing some real workouts."

He checked his watch and strode out of the room, stopping to add an extra weight plate onto Cook's leg press.

"I kind of hate you!" Cook shouted after him.

Adam waved a hand behind his head in acknowledgement as the door swung shut behind him.

Cook put in ten solid reps with the new weight—Adam was right, the burn was much stronger this way—and then looked over to the weight bench, where Archie was still lying there. "Um. Are you dead?" he asked.

Archie flopped an arm up onto his chest, then in front of his face. "No. Still breathing."

"Just checking."

Archie pulled himself to a sitting position, wincing as his arms flexed, and grabbed a nearby towel to scrub at his face with. "Cook, why did I decide to leave Dad's shop and prove I could make it without nepotism?"

"'Cause you're an idiot?"

"I knew it was something."

Cook crossed the room to Archie and pulled on his T-shirt til he was standing. "Or because I don't work for your dad."

Archie swayed into him with a weak smile. "So for you I'm getting tortured by the trainer from Hell?"

"I'm worth it," Cook said ruthlessly, and pulled Archie into a sweaty kiss.

***

Kris had been working on the floor for a little over a week before he stopped pinching himself every morning when he woke up. He was really there. He'd helped install spoilers, played with car templates, and learned that Cook and Archie were actually David and David, but Mike and Michael were never Lynche and Johns. (There had been another, well, a Chris, but he had left two years before, thank goodness.)

He was sitting in the break room, making his way through a turkey sandwich while an argument about tire wear at Charlotte raged around him, when Archie came in and collapsed in a chair next to Cook.

"Hey, don't sweat on me," Cook said, but Kris was sitting on Cook's other side and noticed he didn't actually move away.

Archie slumped further. "If I die, you'll be sorry you were mean to me."

"When you make the pit crew, you'll be glad for the mental fortitude." Cook passed Archie a bottle of water.

"You want to be on the crew?" Kris asked. Archie had decent muscles, he guessed, but he didn't look like he was going to be juggling tires any time soon.

"You don't?" Archie looked genuinely shocked.

Rowdy snorted from across the table. "Please, if you handed a gas can to him he'd break an arm."

"That's not fair." Kris flexed a muscle. Well, it was theoretically a muscle. "I'm not that bad."

A large hand closed around his arm. Kris noticed the dark blue nail polish before he looked up—and up—to see a freckled face and a shock of dark hair above him. "Not bad, I guess. I could make you better."

I bet, Kris thought, trying not to gulp audibly.

***

Cook was working on the leg press again, mostly to avoid the lat pulldowns from hell, when Adam appeared in front of him. "So," Adam said.

"The lats are next, I swear to God," Cook said.

"That's not what—hey, they better be. But not the point." Adam put one hand on the weights and leaned forward. Cook grunted. "Kris Allen."

"The new guy?"

Adam leaned more. "The new adorable pocket-sized guy."

Cook's knees gave out and the weight clattered down. "Jesus, you're heavy."

"New guy. Details. Or your lat workout doubles."

"I hate you," Cook said.

Adam beamed at him. "Talk."

***

Kris didn't exactly plan things so that he was working next to Archie as they ran an inventory check on the race-day toolkits. It just happened that way. Mostly.

"So, how's the workouts going?" he asked, super-casual.

"Okay, I guess." Archie's shoulders slumped. "Maybe in six or seven years I'll have enough arm strength to carry a catch can."

"Come on, look at those muscles! You're doing awesome!"

"You sound like Adam, right before he puts twice as much weight on the machine for the next guy."

Kris nodded sympathetically and kept checking wrenches off. "Does Adam, um, work on the pit crew sometimes?"

"No, he just trains us. He totally could—he's eleventy feet tall—but he doesn't want to. Do you believe it?"

Kris, who had only ever gone over the wall to clean off windshields and hated every second, hmmed in response. "What's his deal, then?"

Archie stopped mid-count, a couple of bolts falling from his hand, and turned to Kris. "Are you just bored or—ohhh."

"Oh what?" Kris widened his eyes. "Just asking! He's different, you know, and—"

"Hot like burning?"

Kris felt the blush creeping up his face. "No!"

Archie grinned—an evil little look for such an innocent face. "I know stuff. Do you want to know stuff?"

"What stuff?"

Archie waited.

Kris blushed harder. "Okay, yes, he's very—I mean, out of my league, but. Yes. Tell me stuff."

Archie leaned forward. "I will tell you _everything_."

***

"Stop talking," Cook said, holding Archie's chin in place. "It makes it harder to make out with you."

Archie dutifully opened his mouth to kiss instead of talk, but when Cook had worked his way down Archie's neck and was nibbling at his collarbone, he started in again. "I just think it's adorable that they're asking about each other."

"Mm-hm." Cook shifted on top of Archie, pressing him into the couch. "I hope those two crazy kids make it. Seriously, pay attention to the sexing."

"I'm just saying—"

"And saying, and saying."

"What if Rowdy hadn't locked us in the supply closet?"

"You would have cracked eventually," Cook said. "Face it, I'm awesome."

"Maybe you wouldn't have cracked," Archie said.

Cook nipped harder at Archie's neck, then licked a stripe over it as Archie shuddered. "Nah, you're awesome too."

Archie grabbed for Cook, and somewhere between the kissing and the groping they ended up on the floor, Cook on the bottom, ignoring the TV remote pressing into his back.

"I see your point," he said breathlessly.

"About me?"

"About those crazy kids. We should definitely work out a plan."

"Absolutely." Archie was breaking his own speed record for undoing Cook's pants. "In a minute."

***

Rowdy stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked down at Kris. "Are you listening at all?"

"Um." Kris tore his gaze away from the _actual Sprint Cup track garage, holy shit_ and looked back at Rowdy. "No."

Rowdy rubbed the top of Kris's head in a move that was part hair-ruffle, part headslap. "You have to be on tomorrow, Kris. The garage guys are just as important as the pit crew. Especially if there's any kind of wreck."

"I know. I do. It's just—" Kris waved his hands around.

"I get it." Rowdy's looked over Kris's shoulder at something and took a step back. "Okay, just take some time and check it out, okay? Let it sink in. Then come find me and I'll lecture you some more."

Kris blinked as Rowdy hurried away. "Okay," he said to himself. He turned around—and ran straight into someone's collarbone.

"Ow!" he said, bouncing backwards, and then, "Adam!"

"Hey," Adam said. "Cook said you'd be in here."

"He did?" Kris asked. "I mean. What are you doing here? Archie said you never come to the tracks."

"He did?" Adam parroted back to him. "Well, maybe I wanted to check the scene out. Or maybe I wanted to watch the pit stops, make sure I've got the most efficient training program for everyone."

Kris's cheeks were burning. "Or maybe…you had ulterior motives?"

Adam's smile was surprisingly shy, especially contrasted with his flirtatious tone. "Honey, you should know I never have anything but ulterior motives."

Kris abandoned common sense and caution and launched himself at Adam. They went sliding against the tool cabinet, but Kris was too busy kissing Adam to notice the clanks as tools slid everywhere. Adam made one surprised muffled noise and then wrapped both arms around Kris, pulling him in and up so they made full-body contact as he kissed back harder.

They didn't break apart until the cheering and hooting started behind them. Kris turned his head reluctantly to see half the crew standing there. Crystal and Mike had scribbled scores on their clipboards and were holding them up.

"That six better be out of six," Adam said, and everyone started laughing again. Off to the far side, Cook and Archie were exchanging a high-five for some reason.

Adam leaned in to Kris. "So, I have to say, I like your motives too."

"We should, um. Compare them more." Rowdy was in the corner with his face in his hands for some reason. Kris looked down and registered the mess of tools. "Maybe…after the race?"

"It's a date," Adam said, and let go of Kris reluctantly. He headed out of the garage, nodding and waving at the applause surrounding him.

Kris looked around at his friends, his world-class garage, and the hottest guy in NASCAR, who he had a "date" with after he got to work the best job in human history. "I love racing," he said.


End file.
